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The preacher said it was sympathetic," she minced the word, remembering Mr. Larsen's manner. Harsanyi drew himself up in his chair, resting his elbows on the low arms. "Yes? That is better suited to your voice. Your upper tones are good, above G. I must teach you some songs. Don't you know anything pleasant?" Thea shook her head ruefully. "I'm afraid I don't.
I come of rough people. I'm rough. But I'm independent, too. It was all I had. There is no use my talking, Mr. Harsanyi. I can't tell you." "You needn't tell me. I know. Every artist knows." Harsanyi stood looking at his pupil's back, bent as if she were pushing something, at her lowered head. "You can sing for those people because with them you do not commit yourself.
He pushed Harsanyi into a chair and sat down at his burdened desk, pointing to the piles of papers and railway folders upon it. "Another tour, clear to the coast. This traveling is the part of my work that grinds me, Andor. You know what it means: bad food, dirt, noise, exhaustion for the men and for me. I'm not so young as I once was. It's time I quit the highway. This is the last tour, I swear!"
You couldn't stand it to play the sort of things I have to sing." As Harsanyi still pointed to the chair at the piano, she left her stool and went to it, while he returned to his CHAISE LONGUE. Thea looked at the keyboard uneasily for a moment, then she began "Come, ye Disconsolate," the hymn Wunsch had always liked to hear her sing. Mrs.
I thought I would learn a good deal from the people who work with him, but I don't think I get much." Mrs. Harsanyi looked at her inquiringly. Thea took out a carefully folded handkerchief from the bosom of her dress and began to draw the corners apart. "Singing doesn't seem to be a very brainy profession, Mrs. Harsanyi," she said slowly.
This remark seemingly closed the subject, and when the coffee was brought they began to talk of other things. Harsanyi asked Thea how she happened to know so much about the way in which freight trains are operated, and she tried to give him some idea of how the people in little desert towns live by the railway and order their lives by the coming and going of the trains.
Harsanyi knew that his interesting pupil "the savage blonde," one of his male students called her was sometimes very unhappy. He saw in her discontent a curious definition of character.
"Mr. Harsanyi couldn't stand these people an hour, I know he couldn't. He'd put them right out of the window there, frizzes and feathers and all. Now, take that new soprano they're all making such a fuss about, Jessie Darcey. She's going on tour with a symphony orchestra and she's working up her repertory with Bowers. She's singing some Schumann songs Mr. Harsanyi used to go over with me.
It grated upon Harsanyi because he felt that it was not sincere, an awkward affectation. He wheeled toward her. "Miss Kronborg, answer me this. YOU KNOW THAT YOU CAN SING, do you not? You have always known it. While we worked here together you sometimes said to yourself, 'I have something you know nothing about; I could surprise you. Is that also true?" Thea nodded and hung her head.
"Exactly," he thought, "as if she were being watched, or as if she were naked and heard some one coming." On the other hand, when she came several times to see Mrs. Harsanyi and the two babies, she was like a little girl, jolly and gay and eager to play with the children, who loved her.
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